Inebriation in Mirkwood
by Catmint
Summary: In celebration of the birth of Prince Legolas, the Rivendell Elves travel to Mirkwood. Somewhere along the line, though, someone has neglected to inform Elrond of the strength of the wine...Humour fic, featuring a drunk Elrond.
1. Chapter 1

Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: not mine, never have been, never will be. All I own are the books, the films on video and DVD, and the film soundtracks.

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A/N: Although this is a sort-of prequel to Rain in Rivendell, it doesn't matter which one you read first. This was inspired by a comment from one of my loyal Rain in Rivendell reviewers, mirielle, from a comment made by Thranduil. Tolkien never specified when Legolas was born, but I've always been under the impression that he's a bit younger than the twins (maybe I've just read too many fics depicting him as younger than the twins!) The twins were born in the year 130 of the Third Age, so I'm setting this story in the year 160 TA. By my estimation, it's about 400 miles from Rivendell to Mirkwood. A journey of about 6 days, I reckon.

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Chapter 1

"What does King Thranduil have to say?" inquired Glorfindel.

"He has a son, and the child has been named Legolas," Lord Elrond informed the Balrog slayer. "He has invited some of the occupants of Imladris to his kingdom to partake in celebrations of the child's birth."

"Who is to go?"

"Myself and Celebrían, you, Gildor and Lindir," replied Elrond. "Erestor, despite also receiving an invitation, is needed here and shall be in charge during our absence."

"What of your children?"

"I shall be remaining in Imladris with them," Celebrían informed him. "They are too young to journey so far, particularly on a route fraught with such potential danger."

Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged dubious looks. "I am glad that I will be going to Mirkwood and not remaining in Imladris," Glorfindel muttered to Erestor, who narrowed his eyes at him. Both were convinced that there was far more danger in Imladris than on the road to Mirkwood, courtesy of the twins.

Elrond ignored this; the two in front of him could hardly be blamed for such sentiments, having suffered greatly at the hands of the mischievous twins. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he was anticipating a nice break from his children – after Glorfindel and Erestor, he was the twins' favourite target for their pranks. "We leave early tomorrow," he informed the pair. "My wife has a gift prepared, for she has been working on it ever since we first received news of the coming of this child." He nodded at the two Elf-lords in front of him. "Glorfindel, you may go. Erestor, there are a few minor things I wish to go over with you before I depart."

"As you wish," replied Erestor. He heartily wished that he were travelling to Mirkwood, if only to get away from the twins.

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Elrond had been expecting his parting from his sons (however short) to be painful and full of tears. _That_ notion had gone out of the window the moment he had left his room (and nice warm bed that had the added benefit of his wife still in it). He had pushed open his bedroom door and been promptly drenched from a bucket of icy-cold water that had been wedged there. Immediately afterwards, he tumbled to the floor, courtesy of an abandoned ladder. It had been all the more injurious to his pride when he had realised that his wife had not woken, despite the rather loud noises.

Then there had been the falling sheet (quite _how_ the little brats had managed to attach it to the ceiling and create a mechanism that caused it to descend on him, he had no idea). Then the skipping-rope at ankle height across the doorway of the breakfast-room, which had caused him to tumble into the room in a _most_ undignified manner. Erestor's snickers had served only to worsen the situation. Glorfindel had given him a sympathetic look – clearly he had suffered the same fate, as well as receiving his own drenching, given his wet hair.

No; Elrond was more than happy to be leaving the terror-invoking pair behind for a while. He considered pitying his wife, but then recalled how she never seemed to suffer like he did.

"Elrond? What troubles you?"

The lord of Imladris snapped back to attention. "Nothing, Glorfindel. I am merely thinking how relieved I am to be able to spend a few days not being on constant alert for pranks. I love my sons dearly, really I do, but…"

Glorfindel nodded grimly. "I understand perfectly. What I struggle to understand is how Erestor managed to evade torment while we did not."

"I was wondering the same thing. Perhaps they felt that since we were going away, they would make us suffer before our departure and lull Erestor into a false sense of security, before making him suffer in our absence."

Glorfindel momentarily contemplated this idea, then nodded. "I rather think you are correct in your assumptions."

"I almost feel sorry for him."

"Only almost?"

"He did not attempt to hide his amusement at breakfast, and nor did he make any kind of sympathetic gesture."

"Ah. I see. I suffered much the same."

"Skipping-rope in the doorway?"

Glorfindel nodded. "And a bucket of water over my door. And then there was the apple-pie bed I suffered last night. Complete _with_ apple pie from last night's dessert."

Elrond arched one eyebrow. "I have not had that occur to me – yet."

"Give it time, my lord. With those two, there is always time."

"How true."

"What exactly does this celebration consist of?" inquired Glorfindel, ducking beneath a low branch.

"I have no idea. Hopefully not too many speeches and the like – although you know how fond the King of Mirkwood is of _those_." Elrond grimaced slightly; he was not a great fan of Thranduil's love of long (and, in his opinion, extremely dull and tedious) speeches. "When the terrible twosome were born we held a great feast, with singing, music and dancing."

"Until Erestor fell off the balcony," Lindir, overhearing, put in.

Glorfindel snickered at the memory. "That was highly amusing. I never did find out how it happened."

"He was attempting to find somewhere quiet and was not paying attention to where he was going," Elrond informed him. "Too busy reading his book. He has not read while walking since then."

"I cannot possibly imagine why," replied Glorfindel drily. "When do you plan on arriving in Mirkwood?"

"In the forest or actually at the palace?"

"At the palace."

"Today is Saturday, so I would be aiming to reach there by Thursday. Friday at the latest, barring any hold-ups or major disasters."

"You had better hope that Lindir's horse does not throw him this time, then," Glorfindel remarked.

"I am on a different mount. Ithil and I did not suit one another; she resents me for some reason. I now ride Alfirin," Lindir informed him.

"A much better match," Glorfindel replied. "Have you the gifts for the child, Elrond?"

"Gildor carries them with his horse in the packs. The rest of us carry food, bedding and other necessities." Elrond smiled wistfully. "How nice it will be to see an Elfling that does _not_ cause absolute mayhem wherever he goes. They are incredibly sweet at that age."

"Give it time," muttered Glorfindel. "It was but thirty years ago when you were saying such things about your own pair of terror-invoking brats."

"You insult my children?" demanded Elrond.

Glorfindel's eyes widened as he realised his mistake. "No, my lord! I was merely commenting upon your tendency to go somewhat misty-eyed and – dare I say it – _gooey_ over small Elflings that are too young to be capable of causing trouble." _Unlike your two hellions_, he thought to himself, knowing better than to speak such words out loud.

"Oh. Glad to hear it."

They travelled on in silence for some way, concentrating on the path ahead.

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.

A/N: all facial expressions mentioned in this chapter belong to Elrond and as such are Trademarked

**A/N 2:** little baby Legolas puts in an appearance here!!

Author thanks at bottom.

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Chapter 2

By some minor miracle, they all arrived in Mirkwood without incident ("For what must be the first time _ever_," Elrond muttered to Glorfindel). The party from Imladris was met by guards at the border and they were escorted into Thranduil's palace. None of the guards spoke to them; they recognised all the Elves – and none dared challenge Elrond.

Thranduil was awaiting them, and crossed the throne room in a few short strides, a warm smile upon a face that more commonly wore a frown (Thranduil was adamant that it was his concentrating-and-deep-in-thought expression, and it was perhaps not far removed from Elrond's own expression of the same nature). "Welcome, folk of Imladris. You have made good time; the Lórien contingent are yet to arrive – Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil sent a message in advance to inform me that they were late in departing."

"_All three_ of them are coming?" hissed Glorfindel in Elrond's pointed ear, a distinct note of panic in his voice. He had not forgotten the last time he had visited Lothlórien – the three brothers had managed to completely humiliate him (in front of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, no less). The Balrog slayer had no doubts whatsoever that they would be an incredibly bad influence on the already-mischievous twin sons of Elrond. _Valar save us all_, he thought desperately.

Elrond merely nodded, mouth set in a grim line. Glorfindel did not doubt that he was having nearly identical thoughts to himself. It was not really a comforting thought, were he honest with himself.

Thranduil inquired after their journey and requested that a servant show the guests their quarters. The instant they were beyond even Elven earshot of Thranduil, Glorfindel let out a moan of despair. "We are surely doomed, _mellon nîn_, if _that_ trio are indeed going to be in attendance!"

"Come, Glorfindel. They surely are not as bad as you make them out to be," responded Elrond. He was, however, unsure as to whom exactly it was that he was attempting to convince.

"Alone, no; it is when they are _together_ that they are to be feared!"

"Do not think of such things for as long as you can help it," advised Elrond. "Otherwise I fear I shall not sleep tonight for paranoia. Put those thoughts out of your mind!"

"I have tried. Believe me, I have tried!"

"It will be dinner soon; think of that instead."

Glorfindel's blue eyes widened, and he squawked in horror. Elrond, having not been present on the occasion of his friend's 'complete humiliation', was alarmed at this reaction. "Was it something I said?" he asked in total bewilderment.

Glorfindel nodded violently, his fine golden hair flying up to form a halo around his head. "T-t-that trio…dinner…Lórien…" he choked out, before turning and fleeing into the room that the servant indicated that he was to be staying in for the duration of his visit. The door shut with a loud, emphatic _bang_.

Elrond raised one well-marked eyebrow. "I see," he remarked to nobody in particular.

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Dinner that evening passed with no notable occurrence. Elrond put this down to the absence of the Lothlórien contingent. Glorfindel had been reasonably calm, but how long _that _would last remained to be seen.

The baby was with his mother, Olwen, and was quite sleepy, Thranduil informed them, so they would not be meeting him that day.

"How are your sons?" Thranduil inquired of Elrond when all but the aforementioned pair and Glorfindel had retired to bed.

"They fare well – if a little mischievous at times," replied the lord of Imladris wryly.

"That, _mellon nîn_, is putting it a little mildly," muttered Glorfindel darkly. "Causing absolute, complete and utter havoc, mayhem, chaos and devastation wherever they go, would be a more accurate description."

Elrond cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me." He shot one of his Death Glares (™) (as the twins called the expression) at Glorfindel, who subsided. "Their personalities are become more distinct every day. Elladan is, more often than not, the leader of the two, and Elrohir is the more sensible one. Slightly only, I hasten to add. Both have more than the usual troublemaking streak that one would see in Elves – even in Elflings. It makes for…_interesting_…times in Imladris these days." He discreetly kicked Glorfindel's ankle as a warning to not disclose the last acts of mischief that had been inflicted upon them just prior to their departure.

Glorfindel rose. "I have a sudden urge to acquaint myself with an extremely comfortable-looking bed for the night." A (distinctly inelegant) yawn added substance to his proclamation.

"Worry not about rising early for breakfast; although it is usual that we eat early, you are no doubt weary from your travels and may need to rest longer," said Thranduil.

Glorfindel nodded. "_Maer fuin_, Your Majesty." He left the room.

Elrond also rose. "I think I too shall retire. _Maer fuin_, Thranduil."

"Likewise. Sleep well, and do not miss your sons too much."

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The party from Lothlórien arrived two days later. In total, there were ten Elves, three of which were the trio of brothers that Glorfindel so feared. The poor Balrog slayer knew not who to fear more – the Lothlórien trio, or the Imladris twins.

Orophin presented Elrond with a number of small, carefully-wrapped parcels in a strong, yet delicate-seeming, finely embroidered bag. "The bag is for your wife, and the gifts for your children, from Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel," he informed the lord of Imladris. "There is also, I understand, a gift for yourself."

Elrond took it. "Thank you, Orophin. I shall see that they are received." Celeborn and Galadriel were, after all, his in-laws, and the twins their grandsons. Elrond just hoped that Orophin and his brothers had not supplied the twins with their own gifts. _Perhaps _they_ were the ones to 'advise' the twins on placing rope at ankle-height across a doorway_, he thought suspiciously. It might be an idea to go through the gifts before the twins laid their hands upon them. When one was the father of Elladan and Elrohir, one could never, in Elrond's experiences so far, be too careful.

"Who has accompanied you from Rivendell?" asked Orophin with polite interest.

"Lindir, Gildor and Glorfindel. Erestor received an invitation, but he is needed to look after affairs during my absence. My wife, also in receipt of an invitation, chose to remain at home with the twins."

"And how are they faring?"

Elrond's eyes narrowed. "The entire population of the Rivendell Valley is permanently on full alert and wary of them due to all the mischief they have carried out."

All three brothers averted their gaze. Orophin focused on the architecture of the palace, Rúmil began whistling and Haldir averted his stare to a point just above Elrond's shoulder.

"You three would not, by any small glimmer of a chance, happen to know _anything_ about that, would you?"

"Lord Elrond, you wound me!" exclaimed Orophin. "You wound all of us!"

"_Hmmm_."

"The Lord and Lady send their best wishes and blessings to all in Imladris," put in Rúmil (ever the diplomat) hastily, in an attempt to smooth over the situation.

"Thank you. And I return them." He was prevented from further speech by a squeal of delight from Lindir, who stood nearby. Turning to see the cause of such behaviour (seeing as there was a lack of twins, who were usually at the root of this kind of noise), Elrond was unable to prevent himself from smiling widely. Thranduil stood in the doorway with Olwen at his side, a small bundle in her arms.

"Is that the baby?" asked Orophin with interest, a sudden gleam in his blue eyes, which mirrored the gleams in his brothers' eyes. Elrond had seen this gleam before and swallowed – hard. He knew all too well what it meant.

Thranduil nodded, a silly grin upon his usually serious face. "Meet Prince Legolas, Orophin of Lórien."

"He must visit my home when he is old enough. My brothers and I have much to teach him," replied Orophin sincerely.

Elrond somehow managed to bite back the squawk of disbelief and scepticism that was threatening. He caught Thranduil's eye, and the Mirkwood King raised one eyebrow. "Indeed? We shall see." He glanced around the small gathering of Elves, his blue-eyed gaze coming to rest on an unaware Glorfindel (his attention was focused on a beautiful painting hanging on the wall). "Glorfindel, perhaps you would like to hold him?"

Glorfindel's eyes widened and he gulped. "Your Majesty…I – I have only limited experience with children…I fear I may do him some harm…"

A smile of amusement played at the corner of Thranduil's lips. "But surely this is an opportunity to learn? Elrond, my wife and myself are all here. No harm shall come to you. He is a well-behaved Elfling."

"I – er…"

Elrond moved behind him, preventing the Balrog slayer from taking further steps backwards. Glorfindel sighed in resignation; he was not going to win this battle. "Very well," he sighed reluctantly, awkwardly accepting the child.

Unfortunately, he had not thought to take precautions. The oh-so-innocent-looking Elfling reached out a perfect, tiny hand and grasped a lock of Glorfindel's fine, long, golden hair.

He yanked.

Hard.

"OUCH!" cried Glorfindel in pain. Legolas grinned and proceeded to tug harder. Poor Glorfindel howled in agony and used the sort of language that one would more usually find coming from the mouth of an Orc (and the sort of language that the twins were, naturally, desperate to learn). "Your Maj – OW! – esty, please – OWWWWW! – could you – _OW!_ – remove you son – OUCH! – from my arms before I – _OWWW!_ – am rendered hairless – _OWWWWCH!_ – by him?"

Thranduil sighed. "If you insist."

"I do. Most vehem – _OW OW OW OW **OW**! _– ve_hem_ently!"

Thranduil kindly relieved Glorfindel of the Elfling, who appeared most put out at the removal of his amusement. "Perhaps we should adjourn to the Great Hall?" he suggested. "It is, after all, almost time for the celebration feast."

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TBC

Author thanks:

Prettyfoot, Karri, Lady of the Twilight Woods

A Monkey's Harp: Thanks for the travel tips!! However, there are apparently some cross-country horse-riding events that cover up to 100 miles in a day, and remember that these are Elven horses…(I'm working on that premise).

Lucidity: you've got your wish to see little Legolas!! And in all honesty, I expect that _very_ few, if any, punishments will have any long-term effect on the twins!!

Coolio02: don't panic! I'm continuing!! I've written it all (I never post anything until I know it's finished) – I just have to post it.

Mirielle: but of _course _Elrond can insult them and Glorfindel can't - Elrond, as their father, is perfectly entitled to complain!! ;) Hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Radioactive Bubblegum: --accepts Pixy Stix and gives Fizzing Whizzbees as bribery for more reviews for future chapter--

Also to Lutris and Lord Elrond of Hogwarts (via e-mail when the review windows weren't working)

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Elvish translations:

mellon nîn – my friend

maer fuin – good night

Olwen – dream-maiden

(from, as always, the Council of Elrond website)


	3. Chapter 3

Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.

A/N: all facial expressions mentioned in this chapter belong to Elrond and as such are Trademarked

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Chapter 3

Thranduil's speech lasted for a rather tedious fifteen minutes (Haldir insisted that it was more like an hour). Then they progressed ("at long last," Haldir muttered in his eldest brother's ear) to the Great Hall, where the celebration feast was to be held.

On the short journey to the feast (from one room to the adjoining one), Elrond, deep in conversation with Orophin, was paying little (or possibly no) attention to where he was placing his feet. As a result, he caught his foot in the leg of a slightly misplaced chair.

Half-Elf and chair both went flying.

It was, as Glorfindel was heard to say afterwards, something of a domino effect. Elrond stumbled into Orophin.

Orophin, mid-step, overbalanced and collided with Lindir, who was just in front of him.

Lindir fell against the doorframe, groping desperately for some kind of handhold, failed in his attempt to do so and pulled Rúmil down with him.

Rúmil's arms flew up as he felt himself falling. He in turn pulled on Haldir's arm with a flailing hand as he acquainted himself with Thranduil's floor.

Haldir fell to one side as his brother dragged him down. As he toppled over, his now-raised leg caught Gildor just behind the knees.

Gildor's knees buckled and crashed against the rather hard floor. He let out a howl of pain as he fell onto his stomach.

Gildor was, fortunately, the last domino (were you to choose to use Glorfindel's analogy of the falling Elves), and no others fell.

Silence, however, did. Thranduil raised his eyebrows. Glorfindel smirked. Elrond turned a rather fetching shade of tomato red as he hid his face behind his long dark hair. The King of Mirkwood exchanged looks, whilst attempting (and mainly succeeding) to mask an amused smile, with Glorfindel, the only other Elf that had remained standing (the rest of the feast's guests were already seated at the table and attempting to either hide their amusement or were scowling their disapproval). "Elrond, my friend, are you well?"

"Of course. Why?" inquired the distinctly embarrassed Lord of Imladris.

"You are perfectly sober?"

Scowling, Elrond got to his feet in as dignified a manner as he was able to muster. "I am. I merely fell over a poorly-positioned chair."

"I see." Thranduil stared hard at the pile of Elves at his feet. "Gentlemen, I know that I am King, but there really is no need whatsoever for you all to be gathered at my feet in such a manner."

There was a hasty scramble as said Elves struggled to their feet. Rúmil was perhaps the worst off, having been the middle 'domino' and, as such, had been at the bottom of the pile. He bore a scratch on his face from Haldir's brooch. The clothes of all were now somewhat rumpled and skewed.

"Please take your seats." Thranduil gestured to the table, where each guest's place was indicated by small pieces of paper, and aforementioned guests, rather red from embarrassment, obediently took their places. It was a rule that none sat before the King himself did (good manners were to be observed at all times in Thranduil's palace), so they waited. Thranduil took his place in the centre of the long table. "Welcome, friends. Do sit." He sat, and the others followed suit.

Elrond, however, kept going as a loud _crack_ rang clearly through the air. He let out a startled cry as he found himself seated upon the floor, surrounded by a pile of large wooden splinters that had once upon a time been a chair.

As one, the rest of the occupants of the Great Hall turned to stare down at him. Elrond stared back up at them, an expression of shock on his face.

"What happened?" inquired Thranduil, peering down at him.

"The chair broke."

Glorfindel and Lindir snickered. Gildor sighed wearily. The three Lórien brothers seemed (for once) to be genuinely innocent.

Thranduil once again had to fight the urge to smile amusedly. He was certain that he'd succeeded. "Someone kindly fetch Lord Elrond a new chair," he requested. A servant hurriedly slipped away and Thranduil turned to the dark-haired Half-Elf. "This really does not seem to be your day at all, Elrond," he observed mildly.

Elrond _Glowered _(™).

"These things come in threes, you know," Lindir informed them cheerfully – and rather unhelpfully. He received a Glare of Epic Proportions (™) from Elrond for this effort, and, rather wisely, subsided. Glorfindel was somewhat relieved that the incident had not (for once) occurred to him.

The servant returned with another chair. Elrond eyed it suspiciously, as though he were expecting it too to collapse beneath him. He very slowly sat down but did not relax when he was seated, instead shifting his weight frequently and jumping every time the slightest hint of a creak sounded in the room. Glorfindel almost felt sorry for him.

Thranduil indicated the food that had been served while Elrond had been waiting for a replacement chair. "Please begin. Help yourselves to the wine; I believe it can be found in the various pitchers that are along the table."

Much chatter arose after the feast had begun. Thranduil promptly turned to Elrond. "So how long does it take before Elflings sleep through the night?"

Elrond thought for a moment. This was quite difficult to answer; the twins had not exactly been like what one would consider 'normal' Elflings at any point so far (and doubtless they would continue to be so). He took a sip of his wine to momentarily delay his reply. "It took the twins about two years – though I am afraid that I believe the average to be at least double that."

Thranduil's eyes widened in alarm. "_Four years_?" he spluttered, clearly horrified by this.

"But if Legolas is anything like my two, it won't be so long."

"But _two_ years is bad enough! I am sure that I did not take so long."

Glorfindel, overhearing, smirked. "No; I was reliably informed that you took six years."

"And who might have informed you?"

"A good detective never reveals his sources." Another smirk from the Balrog slayer.

Elrond kicked Glorfindel under the table. Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "If my mother has had words with you…"

"As I said, I shall not be revealing my sources. Witness protection, and so on."

Elrond finished his wine and immediately refilled his glass. Glorfindel and Thranduil exchanged looks, but said nothing. Thranduil chose to carry on the conversation. "What are the twins like now? Still eager to be just like their Ada, Uncle Erry and Uncle Glorfy?"

Glorfindel's face grew a rather brilliant shade of pink and he suddenly became completely engrossed in cutting up the meat on his plate. Elrond answered this. "Very much so. They disrupted an archery practice a few days before we left – just because they wanted to have their lesson at _that specific moment_. Erestor was rather put out by it all – you know how he timetables absolutely _everything_, down to the minute."

"Tell me about it," muttered Glorfindel. "He keeps attempting to timetable _my_ life for me as well. He was hassling me about it just before we left for here."

"What did you tell him?"

Glorfindel assumed his 'important' pose (which involved sitting up so straight one would think that he had a pole down his back, raising his chin and pushing his shoulders back). "I merely informed him that once one has fought – and _defeated_, might I add – a Balrog, one has more important things to do with one's life than spending half of it attempting to organise the rest of it. He got a bit huffy with me after that."

Thranduil smiled wryly. "Ah yes, that does rather sound like him."

"He can be good fun when he forgets to be officious – such as when he's playing with the twins. Until they do something like turn his hair green or his clothes pink, that is."

"Have you ever had _your_ clothes turned pink?"

"Fortunately, no. Not yet, at any rate. No doubt when I return to Imladris something not dissimilar from that will have occurred to my clothes. Or to _something_, at any rate."

"We have Orophin and his brothers to thank for that," put in Elrond, shooting daggers at the aforementioned Lórien brothers.

"Perhaps I should prevent Legolas from visiting Imladris when he is older?" suggested Thranduil.

Elrond shook his head. "Do not bother; the twins will merely journey here instead, and wreak havoc in _your_ realm. Far better for it to occur in Imladris, where all who have any sense are constantly on their guard. Were they to come here, none would be alert and, as such, unthinkable things could easily take place here." He finished his second glass of wine. "I dread to think what has already occurred in my absence."

Thranduil looked mildly alarmed. "Indeed?"

Glorfindel thought that it would be an appropriate time to speak. "They would not dare do such things in your realm, Your Majesty. And they are wonderfully behaved for their mother." He avoided looking at Elrond's annoyed expression. "It remains to be seen about little Legolas' personality. With any luck he will be far less mischievous than the twins are. Perhaps it is something to do with the nature of twins."

Elrond glared at him and once again kicked his ankle under the table. "Glorfindel, perhaps you have forgotten that I am a twin? Or was, at any rate."

Glorfindel blinked. "No. The opposite, as it happens."

"I _see_."

"Perhaps we should arrange the next archery contest between Eryn Lasgalen and Imladris?" interrupted Thranduil hastily, more than aware of the growing tension.

"Yes, let's," agreed Glorfindel eagerly.

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TBC

Elvish translations:

Ada – Daddy

Eryn Lasgalen – Greenwood the Great (Mirkwood)

Author thanks:

Radioactive Bubblegum, Lady of the Twilight Woods, MagickalStar135, Queen C, crazy-haldir-fancier, Uineniel

A Monkey's Harp: I'm not kidding!! I think the event I'm thinking of is called The Mountain Centennial, or something like that (I've been reading too many Saddle Club books). But it's only going to get worse for poor Glorfindel…

Haldir's Heart and Soul: I don't think it's the Lórien brothers you want to be worried about!

Lucidity: I'm afraid things only get worse from now on for poor Glorfindel!

Lord Elrond of Hogwarts: high praise indeed! (goes pink) Legolas is about 1 month old, so he's only tiny. You're offering water balloons? Perhaps I can donate them to the twins and see that they get put to good use…

Cheska: the Glorfindel torture has only just begun…

Mirielle: it is indeed a tale for another day – one that I just _may_ have to take responsibility for telling at some point…

Lutris: no more baby, I'm afraid (although he _is_ extremely cute!)

Aerlalaith: the Lórien brothers having anything to do with Elladan and Elrohir's pranking abilities? _Never!!_ ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.

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A/N: in response to something Lucidity mentioned in her review – I completely made up how long it takes Elflings to sleep through the night!! Human babies generally take between 3 and 9 months to do so. As it takes Elves about 150 years to reach full maturity/adulthood, I figured it would take them longer to sleep through the night.

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A/N: WOWEEEE!! SIXTEEN reviews for ONE chapter – I LOVE you guys!! (dances madly round the room)

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Chapter 4

It was not long before poor Glorfindel was heartily wishing he were somewhere else. He was on his second glass of wine (having had a glass of water in between the two glasses of wine). Elrond, however, was not.

He was just draining his seventh straight (large) glass of the stuff.

Glorfindel, if you asked for his opinion (not that anyone was forthcoming with such an inquiry), would have said that the lord of Imladris was tipsy.

Elrond hiccuped. Loudly.

Make that **drunk**, the Balrog slayer mentally corrected himself, wincing. Elrond, seated next to him, had hiccuped right in Glorfindel's ear. The hiccup was promptly followed by a highly unpleasant belch. Glorfindel wanted to move to the other end of the table. It was fortunate, he reflected grimly, that Thranduil was engaged in a rather engrossing conversation with Orophin on the spider population of Mirkwood.

Glorfindel turned to speak to Elrond, just as the latter reached out with an erratically-wavering arm. The blond Elf suspected that his lord wanted the wine pitcher. "Perhaps you would like some water this time, _mellon nîn_?" he suggested, grabbing hold of Elrond's arm and forcing it back to resting on the table.

Elrond shook his head firmly, body swaying from side to side. "Noo-ooo. I do _not_ desire w…w…whassit called 'gain?" He hiccuped.

"_Water_," Glorfindel replied. He beckoned to a nearby servant. "Please fetch Lord Elrond a glass of water. A large glass. _Several_ glasses if you can."

The servant bit back a grin of amusement. "Several glasses can be done."

"Good. And the sooner the better, I think."

The servant scuttled off. Glorfindel fancied he faintly heard the servant erupting into laughter the moment he left the Great Hall. He didn't blame him.

The servant soon reappeared with the requested water in a large pitcher and a clean glass. Glorfindel thanked him as he removed the wineglass.

"Let us partake in some joyous song!" declared Lindir (who, despite being on his sixth glass of wine, appeared to be unaffected by the stuff, having developed a tolerance for it). "With your permission, of course, Your Majesty," he added hurriedly, turning to Thranduil.

Thranduil waved his hand in his general direction. "Go ahead, go ahead. It all adds to the celebrations, after all." He stood, and waved to silence the gathered Elves. "Does anyone wish to sing?"

A pause, then Haldir rose. "If I may?" he said politely. At Thranduil's nod of approval, he began.

Glorfindel, however, was unable to pay much attention to the song. Elrond had just managed to completely misjudge the position of his glass in relation to where he held up the water pitcher.

His best outfit was drenched.

Glorfindel winced.

Elrond hiccuped.

Glorfindel again prayed to the Valar to remove him from this horrifically embarrassing situation.

Then it got worse.

Elrond, swaying from side to side, clumsily got to his feet. Haldir, distracted, stopped singing. Elrond held up his finger. "_I_ have a shong as well," he slurred.

Thranduil attempted to mask his panic. "Perhaps you could allow Haldir to finish first?" he suggested diplomatically.

Elrond shook his head emphatically. "Nnnnoo-oooo. I can't. My shong ish far more sh-sh-_shuperior_." He hiccuped. After a brief pause as he collected his thoughts, he began. (1)

__

"I went to an ale-house I used to frequent; (hiccup)

__

I shaw evil Saurrrron, all his money was shpent. (hiccup)

__

He ashked me to play,

I anshwered him 'Nay'; (hiccup)

__

Shaid, 'Rubbishhhh like yoursh I could beat any day –"

He broke off with a cry as someone (it later transpired to be an extremely annoyed Haldir) threw water over him. Then he hiccuped.

Glorfindel stood and shoved him, somewhat unceremoniously, back into his seat. "And _stay_ there!" he hissed furiously. Elrond merely blinked blearily up at him and Glorfindel sighed wearily. This was going to be a _long_ day.

And it was still only lunchtime.

Haldir cleared his throat and continued on from where he had been so rudely interrupted. Glorfindel allowed himself to relax after having poured Elrond some water (he did not trust the intoxicated lord of Imladris to carry out the task himself). All was well for ten minutes, and Haldir, Orophin and Lindir sang (the latter of which was a merry song about summer).

Then Elrond got to his feet again.

Thranduil could not prevent the cringe from spreading across his face.

Lindir bit down hard on his fork.

Glorfindel screwed up his eyes and silently begged the Valar to send him another Balrog to battle. Or that the floor would open up and that he could slip through it. Or perhaps Elrond could slip through it. _Yes, that could work_.

"I jusht want to shay…" began Elrond, swaying violently as he stood.

The gathered Elves listened. And waited.

"I _juuuusht_ wanted to shay…"

Thranduil looked rather annoyed and impatient by this point. "Yes?"

"I – I jusht wanted to shay…" Elrond broke off, then, frowned in confusion as he looked at Glorfindel. "Wha' _did_ I jusht want to shay?"

"That you were going to retire to bed because you felt unwell," put in Glorfindel firmly, hoping that it would escape Elrond's notice that Elves did not suffer illness. Though they did suffer hangovers.

"I did?"

"Yes. You did."

"Oh. Welllllll, as I shaid that I will do that, I shall retire to bed." He attempted to turn and was only just caught in time by Glorfindel and Thranduil as he lost his balance. The latter assisted the former in restoring Elrond to an upright position, though he still swayed rather too much. Thranduil caught Glorfindel's eye. "Perhaps you should ensure that he reaches his room," he murmured to the Balrog slayer.

Glorfindel nodded grimly. "Oh, I shall. Believe me I shall. I dare not leave him alone until he is safely in his room. I think I shall lock him in if it is at all possible to do so."

"Call a servant and they will provide you with a key."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Thranduil smiled wryly. "It is no problem. He will, though, have the most almighty hangover tomorrow – I believe that is what Men refer to such things as, is it not?"

"It is." Glorfindel smirked. "Oh, I _shall_ enjoy informing him of this tomorrow – or whenever he is sufficiently recovered." He straightened. "Come, _mellon nîn_. Let us get you to bed." He threw Elrond's arm around his shoulder and placed his own arm around Elrond's waist while hanging on with his other hand to the arm that was slung over his shoulders.

He gritted his teeth. He had not entirely anticipated Elrond's weight and was now suffering for it. _But not as much as Elrond will hopefully suffer tomorrow_, he thought rather uncharitably to himself. He straightened up and, amid the stares from numerous guests, began hauling Elrond from the room. Elrond was reluctant to move, but a none-too-gentle nudge from Thranduil got him moving. Unfortunately for Glorfindel, Elrond's level of inebriation was such that the lord of Imladris – _who really **should** know better_, thought Glorfindel irritably – was unable to walk straight.

'Staggered' was probably a better description of his movements. It took substantially longer to cross the room than it would normally have done, as Glorfindel had little choice but to partially follow Elrond (until he strayed too far from their course). The blond Elf had to keep tugging Elrond to keep him going in (roughly) the correct direction. And his clothes, thanks to Elrond's inability to pour himself a glass of water, were beginning to get distinctly damp. And if Glorfindel hated, it was being wet. That had not always been the case; thirty years ago it had not been a problem.

Then the twins had been born. Memories of being soaked at bathtime, being pulled into the bath, being knocked into rivers and lakes during outings and, more recently (since they had discovered the skill of climbing and the joy – or otherwise, depending on who you asked – of ladders), being drenched from buckets above doors, flashed through Glorfindel's mind. He could recall loving being out in the rain on border patrol, particularly thunderstorms, because of the wonderful washed, clean smell that always permeated the world afterwards.

Now, though, thanks to the terrible two, he _hated_ the rain.

Glorfindel was vaguely aware of someone singing, but his attention was too focused on Elrond to pay enough attention to it.

Elrond hiccuped.

He had been in mid-step and promptly fell to the floor.

Glorfindel was dragged down with him.

The Balrog slayer groaned. Taking a deep breath to prevent himself from losing his temper, he disentangled himself from Elrond before gritting his teeth and hauling the lord of Imladris to his feet. They were so close to the door now!

"Wan' a _driiiiiink_," Elrond mumbled, stumbling.

Glorfindel caught him just in time. "You can have a drink of water when we get you to your bedroom," he said firmly.

"Wan' _wiiiiiiine_," Elrond whined, like a petulant child.

So **that's** where the twins get that whining trait, mused Glorfindel. This sort of information, if stored and used tactically, could prove to be _very_ useful indeed.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the door. A servant opened it for them and ushered them through. He could do it. He could get Elrond to his room, lock him in and return to the party. No problem.

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TBC

To the traditional folk tune of _Wild Rover _ ****

Author thanks:

Prettyfoot, Haldir's Heart and Soul, crazy-haldir-fancier, Deana, anticipationnation, banana nut muffin (for reviewing all 3 chapters in one go!), Radioactive Bubblegum

A Monkey's Harp: looks like I'm doing my job, then!

Lord Elrond of Hogwarts: hold on there! I've got to do Haldir and brothers tormenting Glorfindel in Lórien! And you'd only bolt the door 5 times? I'd bolt it at least 25 times!!

Lady of the Twilight Woods: I agree – I'm horribly cruel to him!

Aerlalaith: it certainly isn't Elrond's day – and it's not over yet!

Lucidity: fate? I _am_ fate in this fic!

Lutris: I couldn't resist Trademarking Elrond's Looks – Hugo Weaving is brilliant at them (particularly anything involving The Eyebrows)!

Mirielle: I'm going to write the story! Promise! However, I've got a Harry Potter fic to type up, another one to continue typing up (it's got about 30 chapters), another one to continue writing, a prequel to Why? AND a sequel to Why? to do as well. Patience!

Ak-stinger: Maybe Glorfindel _should_ have known – but be kind; he's not used to baby Elflings! And a new reviewer! Yay!

Uineniel: I shall inquire no further about certain comments made about a certain Balrog slayer (no, not you, Gandalf). Also, please enlighten me as to the meaning of your name; I'm curious.


	5. Chapter 5

Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.

A/N: I know I told you all that I'd be posting this on Thursday, but I'm posting it a day early because I'm away for a few days and will be back on Monday, which means the final chapter will probably be up on Tuesday (if not, definitely Wednesday).

****

A/N 2: I urge you guys to check out MagickalStar135's fics – they're fantastic.

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Chapter 5

Glorfindel was desperately wondering where Elrond's wife was when she was really needed.

Back in Imladris, he thought glumly to himself. Elrond was staggering, inebriated, along the halls of the King of Mirkwood's palace. Glorfindel was struggling to keep him on a (relatively) straight course.

Elrond did not want to be led. "I c'n mng," he insisted (which Glorfindel interpreted as 'I can manage', although he wasn't entirely sure if that was what his friend had _actually_ stated).

"No you cannot," replied the Balrog slayer, equally firmly. "You are going to bed, and I am taking you there." _And locking you in your room afterwards_, he added mentally.

"Y'r no fun."

"Nope. I'm not," was the agreeable reply.

"Wanna shiiiiiiiiiiing!"

"You've done that."

"The _whole thing_ – I detest interr…intr'…interrep…y'know what I mean."

Glorfindel suspected he was trying to say 'interruptions'. He chose not to impart this information to the intoxicated Peredhel, instead remaining silent.

Elrond hiccuped, stumbled, and nearly pulled Glorfindel to the floor (again). A nearby bookshelf saved Glorfindel.

But not Elrond.

The lord of Imladris let out a yelp of surprise as he found himself landing rather unceremoniously, hard, upon his rear end. Glorfindel stifled a smirk; it would never do to laugh at one's lord (even if he _was_ one of your closest friends).

Sighing wearily (something he'd been doing a lot today, he reflected), the blond Elf once again hauled Elrond to his feet. "Stay with me and you will be fine," he ordered.

"Bu' I wanna _shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing_!" Elrond protested, attempting (and failing) to pull free.

"Why sing when there is no audience?" said Glorfindel, frantically thinking of ways to keep Elrond from carrying out his promise (or threat, depending on how one looked at it – drunk Elves were atrocious singers, Lindir especially).

"Then we shall shummon an audiensh [hiccup] by the shweet shounds of our voishes."

"No, really – I would rather not. They are all in the Great Hall, after all. None would come." _Valar help me! My ideas are running low!_

"But they _would_ if we _shang_!"

"No. Trust me; they would not."

"How d'you _know_?"

"I have Lady Galadriel's foresight," Glorfindel said, loading his voice with heavy sarcasm.

Which unfortunately made no impact on the rather-more-than-tipsy Elf. He blinked seriously at Glorfindel. "Really? You do? Shinsh when?"

Glorfindel really was struggling to prevent himself from violently throttling his friend. "I was being _sarcastic_," he informed Elrond brusquely.

Elrond's eyes widened with comprehension. "Ohhhhhh. You were _shar**cash**tic_!"

Glorfindel nodded patiently, as though Elrond were a particularly slow child. "I was."

"I did not think that any but my mother-in-law had the gift of foreshight. And after all, you have shown no shigns of it sho far."

Glorfindel nodded again (he was doing a lot of that as well, he realised). "Come. You should retire now."

"Yesh, Glory…Glorfy…Glorfinny…Why musht you have shuch a long name?"

"Ask my mother."

Elrond smiled and nodded as they continued to meander down the hallway. Before long they encountered a statue of a beautiful female Elf. From where he was stood, Glorfindel decided that the statue bore some resemblance to Celebrían (currently looking after her sons back in Imladris). Elrond's eyes lit up.

Glorfindel groaned.

He was dreading what Elrond would do next.

Elrond pulled free of Glorfindel and stumbled up to the statue. He bowed, believing the movement to be elegant.

Unfortunately he promptly lost his balance. However, he remained undeterred and got to his feet (admittedly rather unsteadily). He stood in front of the statue and bowed again, though not quite as deeply this time, resulting in his staying upright (provided that one conveniently ignored the fact that he was swaying rather alarmingly from side to side).

Glorfindel could barely look.

"My lady," stated Elrond, slurring his words somewhat. He frowned in annoyance when the addressed statue did not respond. "My _lady_…Perhaps you care to dansh?" He held out his arms to her. "My lady? My dear wife, do you refushe your hushband a dansh?"

Glorfindel screwed up his eyes and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Were anyone to encounter them at this moment in time, they would both be highly embarrassed.

Well, amended Glorfindel, _perhaps not **both **of us; perhaps it would be just myself that would be highly embarrassed._

Elrond stepped up to the statue, and placed one hand in the statue's outstretched one and his other arm around her waist. His face grew concerned. "My wife, why are you sho cold? You are Elfkind; you should not be shuffering ailmentsh shuch ash the rashe of Men ish prone to."

Glorfindel could not bear to see his friend embarrass himself further and gently placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder. "That is not your wife, _mellon nîn_. It is but a statue. Your wife remains in Imladris."

Elrond turned to look at him and blinked, perplexed. "We are not in Imladrish?"

Glorfindel groaned inwardly, impatiently, irritably, and spoke slowly and clearly. "_No_. We are _not_ in Imladris. We are in King Thranduil's palace, and we are attending the celebration of the birth of his son, Legolas."

"We are?"

"Yes. Now come. You were retiring to bed because you felt exhausted."

"I wash?"

"_Yesh_ – I mean, _yes_."

"Oh."

Glorfindel placed his arms around Elrond's waist and, mustering up all his strength, yanked him backwards, away from the statue.

He then landed on his rear end, Elrond directly on top of him and struggling to break free, yelling all kinds of Dwarvish obscenities at his blond friend. Glorfindel rolled over so Elrond was lying on his stomach on the floor before breaking free, standing, and hauling the Peredhel to his feet. Elrond staggered a bit to gain his balance, but with much waving of arms, eventually achieved it.

Glorfindel glanced up, suddenly aware of the presence of another. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the ethereal beauty that was Olwen.

Wife of Thranduil.

Queen of Mirkwood.

Queen of _this_ palace.

Glorfindel gulped hard. "Y-Y-Your Majesty," he stammered, bowing quickly. He frowned. "You are not at the feast?"

Olwen shook her golden head gently, a pleasant smile on her face. "I cannot attend, not with a tiny baby. Such beings need constant attention and feeding – something that cannot be done at a feast."

"Oh." Glorfindel turned a deep red at the mention of feeding (he had never been entirely comfortable with what he referred to as "female business"). "I – I apologise."

Olwen laughed lightly. "It is no problem. No need to apologise."

"Oh." Glorfindel turned even redder and his face now resembled a tomato. A very ripe one. "Sorry."

Olwen glanced at Elrond, who was staggering towards the wall. "Is Lord Elrond unwell?"

Glorfindel's face was quickly relieved of the excess colour and he scowled instead. "No; he has merely had a little too much wine."

"Ah, I see. You are retiring elsewhere away from the feast?"

Glorfindel nodded. "I plan on returning to the feast," he informed her, "after I have returned Elrond to his bedroom. He needs to sleep it off. I just need to find someone with the key to his room."

"You plan on locking him in, then?" Olwen was clearly fighting back laughter.

"Oh yes," Glorfindel replied determinedly, face set.

"I shall send the servant with the keys, to you." Olwen left, hurrying silently down the corridor. Glorfindel turned to Elrond and proceeded to haul him none too gently down the corridor, despite Elrond's (rather loud) protests, to his room.

They were met there by Olwen and a servant, the latter of whom bore a large bunch of keys. Glorfindel smirked as the door was opened, and he and the servant dragged a hiccuping Elrond into the room. They threw him to the bed, checked the windows were locked and that the Lord of Imladris had plenty of water, and raced out. They slammed the door behind them and the servant locked it.

Olwen smiled. "Mission accomplished?"

Glorfindel nodded firmly, a wicked smirk upon his face. "Oh yes. He will _suffer_ in the morning. And he is to have _no remedy **whatsoever** _to prevent him from overindulging in the wine again." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "And I shall enjoy _every single minute_ of it." With that, the Balrog slayer sauntered back to the feast, aforementioned wicked smirk still firmly fixed upon his face. Oh, he _was_ going to enjoy the next morning!!

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TBC

Author thanks for chapter 4:

Deana, banana nut muffin, prettyfoot, Tyrian Woodrose (a new reviewer! Yay!), crazy-haldir-fancier

Lutris: of course Thranduil's evil – he has (rightly) no sympathy for Elrond!

Aerlalaith: I couldn't have Elrond sing a _serious _song, now, could I?! He's far too drunk!

Haldir's Heart and Soul: Ah, I get you. I also agree. You liked?

Radioactive Bubblegum: (accepts more Pixy Stix gleefully and supplies Rad with more Fizzing Whizzbees and a Curly Wurly) Glorfindel needs all the hugs he can get!

A Monkey's Harp: it may well be 50 years – I'm not sure and I'm just going by stuff I've read in other fics (it's longer than humans, at any rate!)

Lucidity: you have a point about Elrond having a hard time with the twins!

Mirielle: I think you could be right about Lindir…perhaps yet another humour fic?

MagickalStar135: Wow! SERIOUSLY long! I'm working on the Glorfindel-tormented-by-Haldir-and-brothers!!

Coolio02: Glorfindel _is_ suffering a lot, poor guy. As for Elrond – he can only blame himself. I have no sympathy.

Lady of the Twilight Woods: 'Perilous' indeed!

Akstinger: Thranduil is the king of calm and collected, plus it's a formal occasion – as a result, you'd expect the whole of Mirkwood to behave in a similar manner.

Uineniel: The reason Lindir is alcohol-tolerant is because he spends far more time in Mirkwood than Elrond does. As for Glorfindel telling Elrond what he's done…look out for a one-shot once I've posted 'The King and "It"', called 'I did WHAT?!' that I'm about to write.


	6. Chapter 6 epilogue

Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.

****

A/N: look out for a sequel to this, called "I Did WHAT?!" set just after the return to Rivendell, in which Elrond discovers exactly what he did when he was drunk in Mirkwood.

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Chapter 6 (epilogue)

Glorfindel awoke the following morning to birdsong outside his window. He automatically smiled at the sound; he did like birdsong. It was far better than squabbling twins outside his door. Oh, he _did_ enjoy his life being twin-free.

Well, I **do** love the little terrors **really**, he admitted to himself. _Just not when I am yet again the target of their havoc-wreaking minds._ Surely that was reasonable?

He lay still for several more minutes, enjoying the peace that could only be found far from the House of Elrond, allowing himself to wake fully.

The previous afternoon and evening's festivities had been great fun, filled with music, song and dance. The birth of an Elfling was always cause for celebration, particularly a royal one. _It is just when they get a little older that the trouble begins_, the Balrog slayer reflected wryly. _The best thing about another person's children is that you can relinquish them to their parents when they begin to get irritable._

Deciding that now was the time to stir, he rolled (elegantly) out of bed and briskly washed and dressed. He was ready for his breakfast – which was served in the dining room, not the Great Hall, as that was reserved for important feasts alone.

Arriving in the aforementioned room, he noticed that only a handful of Elves were present. Mentally, he ticked them off – Gildor, an ever-cheerful and bubbly Lindir, Rúmil, and a few Mirkwood and Lórien Elves. There was no sign of King Thranduil, who was in all likelihood taking advantage of a lie-in (somewhat hard to come by when one had a small child). Or possibly nursing a hangover, although this was unlikely – it was highly improbable that Olwen would stand for such a thing, from what Glorfindel knew of her.

There was also no sign of Elrond. Sitting down opposite Gildor (who appeared rather bleary-eyed), Glorfindel smirked wickedly. He was sure that the Lord of Imladris would have a horrific 'hangover' this morning, and the Balrog slayer would have no sympathy with him if that were to prove the case. In fact, he planned to take said Lord his breakfast – his bedroom door _did_ need to be unlocked, after all, and Glorfindel was still in possession of the key. "Morning, Gildor!" he said cheerily. "How are you this fine morning?"

Gildor blinked slowly at him. "The wine here is noticeably more potent than that of Rivendell," he replied thickly. "I am feeling the effects of it this morning. Distinctly."

Glorfindel smiled sympathetically. "Yes, it does tend to have that effect."

"Why're you so chirpy this morning?"

"Why? Because the sun is shining, the birds are singing and I am not suffering from what Men call a 'hangover'."

Gildor scowled at him. "It is all good and well for _some_, then," he muttered grouchily.

Glorfindel smiled and nodded agreeably. "Indeed it is."

Gildor looked as though he were about to throw his slice of toast at the chirpy, non-hangover-suffering Balrog slayer, but then appeared to think better of it as he lowered his breakfast. "Lindir had twice as much wine as myself, yet he shows no signs of a hangover."

"This is Lindir we are discussing," Glorfindel reminded him. "He could have _fifty_ glasses of wine and not suffer the effects."

"This is true."

They finished their breakfast in silence and then Glorfindel rose. "I will take Elrond his breakfast."

"You are familiar with the location of the kitchens?"

Glorfindel nodded. "It is no problem. The problem will be our dear lord. He had entirely too much to drink yesterday."

"He is not the only one," muttered Gildor ruefully.

Glorfindel departed the room and found the kitchens, where a cheery female Elf greeted him. "Good morning, Lord Glorfindel. Can I assist you at all?"

"I have come to collect breakfast for Lord Elrond."

The Elf frowned. "Is he unable to make it to the dining hall?"

Glorfindel nodded, his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, most definitely."

"What would you take to him?"

"What is there?"

"Toast with a variety of spreads, porridge, fruit, some cold meats and the option of what Men refer to as a 'fry-up'."

Glorfindel's smirk increased in its wickedness. "Oh, I think he would like all of it."

The female Elf blinked. "_All_ of it?"

"Oh yes. _All_ of it."

"If you are willing to wait a few minutes, it shall be done. I would appreciate it if you could prepare a tray, though."

"It is no problem." Glorfindel stood at the table, singing softly to himself while he waited. He only hoped that the girl did not notice him partaking in what the twins would call 'testing' various items of food. _This is good food_, he mused.

"One tray for Lord Elrond. We would like the tray and utensils returned when they are finished with."

Glorfindel gulped nervously. He hoped that that would be the case; the plates looked worryingly breakable.

A short while later, he reached Elrond's room, key in one hand, tray in the other, and unlocked the door as quietly as he could. Hesitantly poking his head around the door, he was relieved to note that the lord of Imladris was fast asleep.

Glorfindel winced as Elrond's loud, alcohol-induced snores assaulted his sensitive ears. Not even Lindir snored _that_ loudly. Said Elf Lord was lying flat on his back, right leg and arm hanging over the edge of the bed, left leg stuck straight out in front of him and left arm laid across his stomach. He lay on top of the covers. He was still in his (now dry) clothes from the previous day – which were now horribly crumpled.

Glorfindel winced again. _Celebrían is **not** going to be amused_, he thought, a wave of sickening panic washing over him. Celebrían in a bad mood was to be avoided unless one was suicidal. Something that Glorfindel currently was _not_.

He placed the tray on the chest-of-drawers and approached Elrond, tentatively placing one hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle shake. "Elrond, time to be waking."

No response.

Glorfindel repeated the act, though more firmly this time. A vague half-groan emanated from Elrond, but nothing more. _Third time lucky_, thought the Balrog slayer grimly. This time the shake was verging on the violent.

"Mmm-hmmph."

Elrond rolled over onto his left side, away from Glorfindel, his right arm nearly catching the alert Elf in the face. "Not time t'get up yet, Kelly," he mumbled.

Glorfindel frowned; what sort of a name was Kelly?

"The children'll let us know when t'get up."

Oh! Comprehension dawned on the golden-haired Elf; 'Kelly' must be a nickname for 'Celebrían'. _Potentially useful information… _Gritting his teeth, Glorfindel racked his brains (frequently interrupted by Elrond's overloud snores) for something that would work as his eyes scanned the room. Erestor's words came back to him, on how to wake the twins. _Strip the bed_.

So he did.

Violently. He was determined to not hold back.

Unfortunately it did not have the desired effect.

Elrond continued to snore.

Glorfindel was despairing now; what in Middle-earth could he _do_?

His gaze came to rest upon a pitcher of water near the bed. He tested it. _Icy-cold. That's interesting_.

In one swift motion, he grasped the full pitcher and swung it above Elrond, where he relieved said pitcher of its contents by upending it over Elrond. _The twins would be proud of me._

An unearthly shriek was let out by a very startled – and now very awake – Elrond. He sat bolt upright in what was left of his bed.

Glorfindel cringed, frozen to the spot.

"_WHO DARED DO SUCH A THING_?" howled Elrond in absolute fury. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of an extremely guilty-looking Balrog-slayer (who still held the pitcher in his hands). "_YOU?! _Glorfindel, _HOW COULD YOU_?"

"I – I had to wake you somehow…"

"So you _soaked_ me in _icy-cold water_?!"

Glorfindel screwed his eyes shut. "Er…yes?" he offered.

Elrond shrieked again. Glorfindel winced yet again – something that he was not enjoying doing.

"_Why_ soak me?"

"Well, I _did_ attempt the more conventional method of _shaking_ you," replied Glorfindel, looking – and feeling – distinctly peeved, "but you remained stubbornly asleep. I _then _proceeded to strip you of your bedclothes – but _that_ had no effect either. What _else _was I supposed to do?"

Elrond was silent. Then he groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"What ails you?" inquired Glorfindel.

Elrond moaned again and lay back down, pulling the pillow over his head. "Go 'way."

"Excuse me?"

"My head."

"Oh. What about it?" Glorfindel had his suspicions, but he thought it would be more interesting if he could get Elrond to admit to it himself.

"It's pounding. It hurts…It feels as though the twins were both assailing me with hammers, at the same time…_Auuuggghhh_!" He groaned again.

"Anything else?"

"I feel sick."

"I see." Glorfindel knew he sounded entirely too cheerful and like he was preaching, but he was unable to resist, given the situation. He adopted his lecturing tone, more frequently used with the Imladris terrorists that went by the names of Elladan and Elrohir. "You are suffering from what Men label a 'hangover'. It is the result of one having consumed too much alcohol in too short a space of time. It –"

He was interrupted by a pillow being flung in his general direction. He hastily decided that that was his cue to leave. "Breakfast is on the drawers," he informed Elrond.

He ran.

He did not stop running until he turned a corner, skidded and nearly collided with Thranduil. The King reached out to steady him, then regarded him quizzically. "You seem a little flustered."

"Avoid Elrond," Glorfindel advised him. "He is in the deepest throes of a hangover."

"I see. I shall bear that in mind. Doe he require something to ease his discomfort?"

"Possibly, yes, but I do not wish him to have anything in the hope that it will teach him to not drink too much in the future."

"Ah." Thranduil's eyes twinkled in amusement. "I shall steer well clear."

"You are a wise man."

"Thank you. Where were you headed?"

"Away from Elrond."

"Then come and see the baby."

Glorfindel could feel the colour drain from his face. "Er…well…That is a lovely offer, but I have just recalled that I need to be…somewhere…in a very short time…I _do_ regret not being able to come…"

Thranduil arched one eyebrow. "Indeed? Then I shall not keep you." He turned and continued on his way.

Glorfindel, shaking now, returned to breakfast. Anything to avoid Elrond.

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A fortnight later, they returned to Imladris. Elrond had recovered from his hangover. Glorfindel had been made to promise, on pain of death, that the incident at the feast and the subsequent hangover was to never reach the ears of his wife (Valar forbid). Glorfindel did not blame him. Celebrían did scare him sometimes.

The only reason that Glorfindel agreed to not mention the incident was because otherwise Elrond would reveal his Big Embarrassing Secret – that he was mortally afraid of frogs. (_Well, so would anybody **else** be if Celeborn had put three in **their** bed during their childhood_, the Balrog slayer frequently thought crossly). This information, in the hands of the Imladris Terrorists, would be fatal. So Glorfindel agreed to the deal.

And Celebrían and the twins need never know.

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The End

Author thanks for chapter 5 reviews:

Haldir's Heart and Soul, Deana, Athena Diagon Cat, Tyrian Woodrose, Aerlalaith, Lady of the Twilight Woods, silivren, Coolio02, crazy-haldir-fancier

Banana nut muffin: glad you liked ickle baby Legolas!

A Monkey's Harp: I'm assuming the 'Mr. Anderson' thing is a reference to The Matrix (a trilogy of films I have yet to see)?

Radioactive Bubblegum: (gratefully accepts sweets and responds with Fizzing Whizzbees, an Acid Pop and some Love Hearts) What are Pop Rocks?

Prettyfoot: I totally agree!

Lucidity: I think he's too drunk to do anything more than sleep it off now!!

Akstinger: all from my personal experience at university (I always have Glorfindel's role as I rarely drink alcohol, have never been drunk, and never intend to be so). And Glorfindel _will_ have his revenge!!

Mirielle: Celebrían is _not_ allowed to find out…

Uineniel: I have an _extremely_ twisted sense of humour! I watch lots of Monty Python. My father has the same twisted sense of humour, And Stevie from the _Saddle Club_ books has been highly influential as well, given her penchant for pranks!

Randa-Chan: (blushes at praise) I'm flattered. Wow. Never mind anyone else drunk – could you imagine _Erestor_ drunk? Sorry, Glorfindel, what was that? You got Erestor drunk? When? Can I tell that tale…?


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